


visions are seldom all they seem

by Del (goddessdel)



Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Timey-Wimey, rdficathon prompt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-29
Updated: 2017-02-08
Packaged: 2018-05-03 22:27:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5309357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goddessdel/pseuds/Del
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It eats at him. Gnawing. The knowledge that he can save everyone but River.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Lana Del Rey - Once Upon a Dream.
> 
> Thanks to Beverly for her continual support, even though all I provide is angst in recompense.
> 
> I promised myself no more WIPs and... well... this one is at least a lot more finished than most. And a very belated rdficathon response.
> 
> RDFICATHON prompt response.

He thought that saving Danny would feel good. That he'd feel clever or victorious. Of course, he was lying to himself.

 

Gallifrey is still lost and Clara has still left him, and he resurrected her P.E. Teacher boyfriend, but no amount of lies or tricks will bring back his wife.

 

It eats at him. Gnawing. The knowledge that he can save everyone but River.

 

It made it hard to look at Danny Pink, like squinting at a cracked mirror, designed by a cruel universe to remind him of his failures.

 

He misses River so much that it steals his breath away in the too quiet moments. He's trying to learn from his mistakes, to remember, even if it hurts and aches and _bleeds_.

 

He doesn't know how to save her.

 

Two thousand years and he can't even save his wife.

 

It seems he never can - not from death or Kovarian or the Silence. Not from the nightmares that plagued her for years as he held her in their bed and offered hollow comfort, knowing all the while that she would die surrounded by her greatest fears: in a spacesuit in the dark, with a man who didn't even know her.

 

Some Doctor. What good is he?

 

There's a sharp crack: the binding of _The Time Traveler's Wife_ splintering under his grip.

 

"You've redecorated. Shame about the glass floors, but then, I'm not wearing a dress."

 

For a moment, the Doctor thinks he's hallucinating her voice. But no - he shed that habit with his last body. He leaps to his feet; shoving the book into his pocket before River can see the title, as though everything were normal and she might tease him mercilessly if she were to catch a glimpse.

 

River is standing in his TARDIS, tracing her fingers reverently over the latest console desktop, hair wild and the smell of blaster pulses lingering around her like perfume.

 

The Doctor moves carefully down the staircase, fingers gripping the rail to keep him standing, holding his breath with each step lest River disappear before he reaches her. "You make me sound like a dirty old man."

 

River is grinning when she spins around, though it's pinched and forced at the edges. Her hiding the damage smile. Her eyes widen slightly when she sees him, gaze scouring him from head to toe. "You are at that, sweetie." River licks her lips and her smile sharpens into something predatory. "And now you even look it."

 

The weight of her words freeze him two paces from her. It's the first time he's seen her with new eyes, and she is just as he remembered, only somehow sharper, brighter. He drinks her in fervently, as though he has been parched without her. She looks so young now, though he can place her in her timeline by the fit of her trousers and the color of her hair. Not quite a professor yet, but close. He can read her like a page from their long memorized diary.

 

And it's the first time she's seen him wearing this face.

 

The Doctor looks down at his hands. Older hands. Hands that have never flailed in their eagerness to wind around her curls. Hands that stiffen and flinch when Clara moves to hug him.

 

He doesn't ever want to flinch when River touches him.

 

And suddenly that gap between them is filled with the heaviness of all the long, dark years without her.

 

He clears his throat, sneaking peeks at River's shoes even as he tries not to look at her. "I thought I'd try something a bit more... mature..."

 

Her feet cross the distance between them and, when the Doctor looks up, River's hand is at his collar, resting just where his ridiculous bowtie once lived. "It suits you."

 

Instead of flinching, his body sways helplessly into her touch, hands threading through soft curls to drag River's mouth hungrily to his.

 

Their lips touch and River makes a keening noise that sends fire blazing through the Doctor as though he is regenerating and coming alive for the first and last time. There's a familiar surge of lust and longing in an unfamiliar body, and her mouth feels differently slanted against his, but _oh_ , she tastes just the same and he would drown in her gladly.

 

River's hands fist in his lapel, her body pressing close to his, belt and gun and satchel digging in deliciously, and the Doctor hears himself make a low, strangled sound against her mouth, clutching her to him.

 

He feels shaky and faint when they reluctantly part, and it's all he can do to take a step back before he does something undignified and ridiculous like shag her against the console. The Doctor licks his lips and thinks that he would, if he weren't afraid it might reduce him to tears. "Right then, _wife_ ," he shoves his shaking hands in his pockets and can't resist a little twirl, as though being with her brings back habits of a former life, "how do I look?"

 

Her smile is wide and brilliant. "Amazing."

 

But there's something haunted and fragile still behind River's eyes, that damage she's hiding from him. He feels like he ought to know where she's come from, but his vision of her in those jeans conjures up sunbaked shores and dark warehouses and _don't worry, I'm quite the screamer_.

 

Oh.

 

"You shouldn't be here, River," even though it kills him to say it.

 

She's meant to be off with his gangly previous self and her parents, flirting with a him that doesn't deserve it and helping to save the world yet again.

 

River's smile flickers and dies, her whole face stiffening before she turns away from his gaze, her fists clenched tightly at her sides. "My mother just shot me." She gives a short, humorless laugh. "While I was leading my father on a wild goose chase through Silent tunnels so as not to rewrite time." When her eyes meet his, the look there turns his blood cold. "I would have shot myself to save you, Doctor. I tried, at Lake Silencio. And you're so young, you don't even trust me. My own husband."

 

His own angry words haunting them both: _...But trust you - seriously?..._

 

The Doctor opens his mouth and then presses it firmly shut again. Tentatively, he reaches out one hand and settles it on River's denim-clad shoulder, not sure who he expects to startle, him or River.

 

River sighs, shoulders tense and rigid under his touch.

  
The Doctor ignores that, gently tugging River forward until he can envelop her in a hug. It feels - strangely right, with River. He doesn't think they ever really hugged in his last body, the embrace too common for them, but in this body, where he loathes hugging, it seems like the only thing to do.

 

River presses her face into his coat, clinging to him, but he knows her better than to think she's crying.

 

The Doctor sighs, dropping a kiss to River's hair and holding her close. "I've always trusted you, River, since almost the moment we met. I was more than half in love with you from that very first day." He winces at the memory, still sharp and jagged, burning behind his eyelids and across his hearts. "And your parents," he pauses and winces again, squeezing his eyes closed, "scoured the universe for you."

 

"My parents are already off scouring the corners of America for you. You have a plan," River huffs, breaking away, and he knows he's too old and sentimental for her. That's not what she needs right now. "You always do."

 

He had a plan then, yes, telling Canton how to build him a cell and the others to run, trusting that they would keep each other safe. Trusting that River would keep them safe from the Silence, while he waited and plotted. The Doctor, ever the trickster.

 

He had no idea, then, what he was doing to her. Sending her out with parents who didn't know her, off to do reconnaissance on the very creatures that had haunted her.

 

The Doctor grits his teeth. Yes, he has a plan. "I have it on the highest authority that my younger self is going to be occupied playing the idiotic captive for.... oh... three months, two days and seventeen hours." He's already entering the coordinates, handbrake off, outer shell set to invisible.

 

River peers over his shoulder to look at the monitor, her breath warm against his cheek and her hands already on the controls, adjusting things that don't need adjusting. "Really? And what are we going to get up to for all that time?"

 

They make their way around the console together, the same as always, and he's forgotten how much he missed having a second pilot, not that he'll ever admit that. River's insufferable enough about driving as is; just because she's the child of the TARDIS, she thinks he knows his ship better than he does. "What were you planning?" He's genuinely curious. He'd assumed at the time that River was investigating the Silence, but he knows better. He never thought to ask.

 

River's hands pause over the controls and, when he looks up, her jaw is set, as though she already knows he isn't going to like her answer. "I was planning on hunting down every last Silent I could find and killing them, Doctor."

 

Once upon a time, long before he knew what they'd done to River in fear of his name, the Doctor ordered the Silents wiped off the face of the Earth for daring to kidnap his best friend. Oh, it wasn't a wholesale genocide - they'd still exist, in other centuries and on other planets. Genetically engineered priests turned mercenaries, kidnappers and keepers.

 

He's made many mistakes in his long lives. He's been cruel and cowardly. He's let so many people die in his name. And he's let the human race kill the Silents on sight without losing a moment's sleep over the decision, his hands clean.

 

The Doctor looks down at his hands, white-knuckled over the zigzag plotter. New hands. Older and rougher and already far from clean.

 

He throws the last switch to take them out of the vortex.

 

"All right."

 

...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> RDFICATHON PROMPT #22. [Twelve] joins River in hunting down the Silence (DOTM).


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's not their longest date or their strangest. It's not even their bloodiest.

It's not their longest date or their strangest. It's not even their bloodiest.

 

They park outside the little diner that he's already visited twice, once to reminisce with her about old times before his death, and once to be slapped for making her watch. His Ponds at her side both times.

 

It's just the two of them now, half a century earlier and a whole millennium later, close to the shores of a lake that still reverberates with the ripples of a fixed point nearly torn asunder by the strength of the woman standing next to him.

 

River's been here twice before, as well. Once in the diner with him, and once at the bottom of the lake, trapped in a spacesuit against her will the night of her graduation - the night of their wedding.

 

Time twists and bends here, twice broken, and there's nobody there to notice a second TARDIS and another version of themselves, decades early. The Silence has no reason to be watching.

 

The diner is much as he remembers, only newer. The decor apparently never alters much from the 1960s. The patrons, however, do. They don't get many tourists in 1969 and the locals stare at River and the Doctor as though they know they're aliens. Not exactly friendly.

 

"Why don't you see if you can find us a drink, sweetie." River kisses his cheek, winks and bustles him into the diner, no doubt to get into trouble without him.

 

There's no alcohol in Utah, and he lost his taste for fizzy drinks with his last regeneration. The Doctor orders waters and a giant bowl of ice cream, slowly eating his half while he waits for River to return. Complaining loudly about their paltry flavor selection: they don't even have starberry.

 

Even plain vanilla ice cream manages to soothe the unsettled feeling in his stomach. He doesn't like being separated from River. Not now and not like this.

 

The locals only appear more suspicious when River strolls in, cool and collected in her dark trousers and the soft silk of her blouse, red to match her heels.

 

When she leans against the worktop to steal his spoon and wrap her lips around the metal, he has quite the view down her blouse. River catches him staring with a smirk. "If you're finished licking your ice cream, Doctor, I had something else in mind for dessert."

 

The Doctor bites back just the filthy reply she's probably expecting with effort. The locals are getting restless anyway, staring blatantly and muttering about the strange foreigners. River leads him outside to a 1969 Jaguar, racing green but otherwise so similar to the car he once left with her father that he does a double take.

 

He's a bit afraid to ask where she found the car in Utah or how she got it. For all he knows, she's figured out how to transport vehicles with her vortex manipulator. River is leaning on the bonnet and grinning at him.

 

The Doctor feels his lips quirk up in something that might match her expression. "Where to?"

 

"New York - the long way round. We've nearly three months to kill according to your timeline. My parents are handling the middle and western parts of the country - Mum up north and Dad south. We'll slip through the middle, head to Florida and then make our way north."

 

They both make for the driver's side, of course. Only River has him at a disadvantage as she not only has the keys but she's remembered that cars are the wrong way round in America.

 

The Doctor huffs as he slides into the passenger side, River laughing at him. They'll have to take it in shifts anyway. He'll drive after they stop.

 

Only they stop almost immediately, the motorway leading them past the familiar bluffs surrounding Lake Silencio. The Doctor tenses as River kills the engine. There's a Silent standing guard on the hill, looking out toward the lake.

 

River has her blaster in her hand before the Doctor can blink. The Silent is just turning to them when River shoots it dead. A clean shot to what must have been its heart.

 

The Doctor swallows. This is River testing him. He's still not fond of guns, but River was very clear about her plans. He'll have to come up with something.

 

River is tense next to him as she tucks her blaster away and leaves the car, the Doctor following silently in her wake. They trek through the sand to stand over the Silent, River regarding it with sharp eyes though it's clearly dead.

 

The Doctor considers the body before them. He's been responsible for his share of bodies - the Silence was right about that, at least. He leans down and stares at the fallen priest at his feet. Genetically engineered, bodies conduct electricity; it's entirely likely the church also engineered their bodies to rapidly decompose upon death, without the current sustaining them. Thinking back to the human race's armed resistance to their occupation, he hopes so. "Should we do something with the bodies?" There will undoubtedly be more.

 

River doesn't answer, her eyes fastened on the deceptively calm waters of Lake Silencio. She bends to remove her heels, carrying them in her hand as she walks out toward the water, the sand swallowing her footprints as she goes.

 

The Doctor shoves his hands in his pockets and follows, stomping after her through the sand.

 

River freezes when her bare toes touch the water, the gentle waves lapping at her feet and soaking the hems of her trousers. She doesn't turn when he steps beside her, and the Doctor holds his tongue with effort, waiting.

 

"When I woke up down there it was so quiet and dark that I thought I'd died. That I was in Hell or Tartarus or the Netherworld. And then I was forced to kill you, again, and I realized what Hell would really be like."

 

The Doctor sighs, aching to reach for her again. "The way I remember it, you saved me, more times than I can count."

 

When she turns to face him, River's eyes are haunted, as though she's the one looking at a ghost. She offers a sad curve of her lips that might be a smile, her free hand reaching up to trace his lined face. "But I killed you twice, as well."

 

"Have to kill me more times than that to get rid of me, River Song," the Doctor teases softly, closing the distance between them with the permission of her touch.

 

River's heels fall, forgotten, to the sand.

 

Once he touches her, once he kisses her, the Doctor finds that he can't really stop; whatever willpower he possessed in the TARDIS rendered useless in this place. She feels just as he remembers and completely different under new hands, the silk of her clothes little in the way of a barrier between them. But a barrier, nonetheless.

 

He's undressing her before he even fully realizes, his hands sliding under the silk of her blouse, wrapping around her tiny waist by a habit he thought he'd lost. Different hands, but she still fits in them perfectly. Bespoke, no matter the body either of them wears.

  
They stumble away from the water, caught up together in a tangle of limbs and lips, and they stumble and sink to their knees with soft noises of surprise or discomfort that pale in comparison to the overwhelming need that the Doctor can feel quivering just under his skin.

 

River's clever hands push at his coat and the Doctor shrugs out of it, breaking their kiss only long enough to twist and spread it out over the sand as an offering, the red lining bold and warm in glare of the sunlight.

 

But River kisses him again, her lips soft and warm against his, and the sun and sand and water and corpse - it all fades away until there is only River, glowing beneath him as she stretches out over his coat and shimmies out of her trousers with his hands at her hips.

 

The Doctor buries his face between her golden breasts, pressing kisses to her sternum and squeezing his eyes shut against tears. He'd never truly even dared to dream that he might have River in his arms again, not like this, not since an old man out ran the last of his lives. His hands sweep across her smooth skin, tracing familiar scars and nearly-forgotten freckles.

 

It's almost a surprise when River's fingertips skate across his new-old skin, nerve-endings flaring with pinpricks of delight under her touch. She's been undressing him while he was lost in her, and he pulls back to watch River watch him.

 

They don't need words like this - they never have - and the Doctor rolls to his back, sand scraping his calves, River haloed by the shockingly blue sky as she traces feather-light fingers over his skin as though she is reading him through braille. As though she can read the loneliness and loss and years between them, mapped out in flesh and bones and blood.

 

It's been so long since he's been touched like this. Not in this body at all, so ill used to even the slightest touch, let alone something as bracing and intimate as his skin against another's. Not since before the long, lonely centuries on Christmas. Not since the Towers sang and he peppered her skin with his kisses and tears. Now here they are, and he thinks that he's just been waiting, all this time, for her to come back to him and make him whole again.

 

Her hands grow bolder, smirk wicked even if her eyes are still sad, and the Doctor wishes more than anything that he could kiss away the monsters lurking behind the flecks of gold and green.

 

His hands tremble as he pulls her toward him, their bodies brushing, bare and exposed, and he feels as though his hearts crack and bleed at the way River melts against him, warmth and absolution that he has prayed for but never truly deserved.

 

He kisses her again because he can, and she tastes like the warm sunshine of Gallifrey on his tongue, all fire and passion and perfection and _home._

 

She lets him press her back into his coat, his hands steady when they part her legs. He settles there between them, balancing on his knees and one arm as his fingers trace the whisper-soft skin of her thighs.

 

The Doctor watches her closely, hungry for every detail of pleasure in River's expression as he maps her intimately with new fingers, discovering how these hands ache to touch her and relearning just where she most needs to be touched.

 

The shadows in her eyes are quickly obscured by the glaze of lust as she writhes and moans under the strokes of his fingertips, her cries echoing in the vast empty landscape surrounding them. The Doctor works her up gently, savoring every moment, committing her - just like this - to his vast memory. He's uncharacteristically indecisive - torn between his impatience and the need to linger - and all he really wants is to have all of her, all at once, right now.

 

River decides for him, as she is wont to do. She catches his wrist in a deceptively strong grip, interrupting his ministrations as she tugs him gently but firmly over her. "Need you, Doctor."

 

"I'm right here," the Doctor soothes her, shying away from admitting his own consuming need for her. He needs to keep her with him, for always, no matter the cost.

 

The Doctor shifts to settle back between River's legs, her thighs cradling his hips and her wetness just brushing against him, her body welcoming his, and he has to bury his face in her curls to sop up the tears leaking from his eyes.

 

Hands brushing across his back, River gently urges him forward, shifting and rocking her hips up until he slides inside the heat, the heart of her, and they're both left with a whimpering gasp at the feel of being joined, after so long.

 

It takes the Doctor a moment, his whole body taut and shivering under the onslaught of feelings being with River evokes - both mentally and physically. River is endlessly patient; her hands stroking the expanse of his back and her heels trailing down his calves, gritty with sand.

 

He's afraid - though he'd never admit it - afraid that it won't be the same in this body - that he's forgotten how to be this man - that somehow they won't quite fit; him and the wife who was bespoke to another of his lives.

 

Of course, he shouldn't have doubted them. When he gathers the strength to steady his limbs and start to roll his hips, the sparks of pleasure burst behind his eyelids in time to the pleased, encouraging noises River makes.

 

They find their rhythm quickly, River leading and the Doctor quick to follow, and then he's lost in the fathomless heat of her - the feel of her, wrapped around him, breathing life into him with the stilted cries leaving her lips. He's making noise too - low, guttural sounds of wordless passion and need ripped from his throat.

 

A need that devours them, edging them both in a delicious, burning fire, building higher as they clutch and cling to one another, urging it faster and hotter and higher. They lose their delicacy faster than the Doctor ever would have previously dared, but River is right there with him, their coupling rough and engulfing.

 

The Doctor is lost in her almost from the moment they first touched, but he manages to hold off until River falls apart; her cries lengthening into a scream as she arches up into him, all her muscles pulling taut, greedy for the sensation. The Doctor shudders, thrusting blindly, head still hidden in her neck; his hands tug her tighter and closer as his toes slip in the sand, scrambling for traction.

 

Their breath is ragged like the wind licking the salt-tears of sweat from his back. The Doctor presses a chaste kiss to the skin of River's neck he had been nuzzling, hoping that his eyes aren't red from his earlier tears as he lifts his head and basks in the afterglow shining across River's face.

 

River wiggles against him until he reluctantly shifts to lay on his back next to her, the wind and sand biting at him. "Not bad, old man. And here I'd worried you might be out of practice."

 

The Doctor lifts his head to glower at her, though he can't deny he enjoys the sound of her tinkling laughter, even at his expense. "I may be out of practice, but some things are hard to forget."

 

River gives him a low-lidded, filthy look, made even more decadent by her lust-ruffled appearance. "Whenever you need a reminder, I'm certainly looking forward to the practice."

 

"Insatiable wrench," the Doctor growls, squeezing River closer and letting his gaze drift, unfocused across the wide blue sky. He can hear waves lapping in the distance, wind ruffling the still lake.

 

"You like it," River replies easily, already pulling away from him and reaching for their scattered, sandy clothing.

 

Sand chafes at his skin as he stands and tugs his trousers to rights, but the Doctor ignores it, not about to suggest they rinse off in that particular lake. "Yes, well, you've been a terrible influence," he grumbles, meaning the words to be teasing but realizing once they're out that they're more true than he's prepared to admit to.

 

River's answering smile is sad, Lake Silencio at her back and the sun obscuring her eyes. She brushes off his coat and hands it to him. "We should go."

 

...


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They leave the body to decompose on the beach and drive away from the sunset, heading east.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All my best hopes to avoid a delay in posting this fic were for naught. Rest assured that the next chapter should be ready for next week. Though, knowing me, there will be some delay somewhere along the line.

They leave the body to decompose on the beach and drive away from the sunset, heading east. The Doctor drives this time, River contemplative in the passenger seat, her face turned to the desert and her hair whipping in the wind.

 

River had packed changes of clothing in her much bigger-on-the-inside handbag, and they change from sandy clothes in the backseat before they leave; the sun and each other their only witnesses.

 

She also packed sharpies, which they wear like necklaces or badges, tucked into their clothing, resting between their hearts.

 

The first two days they drive straight through, stopping only for petrol and (rarely) food, switching off every few hundred miles or so. The restaurants they stop in eye them dubiously, and they make sure not to linger over their coffee and scones (or what passes for either - the Doctor is unimpressed with the food, despite the advantage of it being homemade in this time period).

 

River has a map in her head. They take back roads and highways, a zig-zag pattern to carefully avoid the routes Amy and Rory will be on, to pick off the Silents where they are most likely to be lurking. They wash off tally marks in petrol station loos, counting carefully. The Doctor knows River is comparing the tallies to the shots she's taken. They can both hazily remember each encounter in outlines and broad strokes but, if there are multiple Silents, the exact details and numbers can be hard to accurately recall.

 

Eventually, the shadows grow behind River's eyes and even for the Doctor the scenery blurs into one long stretch of flat asphalt and desert reaching infinite hands toward the horizon. He pulls into a small one-story motel on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere.

 

The motel is almost completely deserted except for the bored attendant on duty, who musters a faux-cheerful, "Good evening, folks. Can I get you a room for tonight?"

 

Small-talk is not his strong-suit this go round, the Doctor is well aware. "The room on the end."

 

The attendant blinks and River gives him a reproving look, which must mean he was too abrupt again. The man glances between the Doctor and River and ventures, "Right... umm... that room has a queen bed... if that's all right?"

 

Hand twitching over his pocket, the Doctor has to stop himself from flashing his psychic paper and being done with this nonsense. It might attract the wrong kind of attention though, low-level telepathy, if any Silents are near. He glares instead. "Why wouldn't it be?"

 

At last, River takes pity on him or the attendant and rescues him. "I'm sure _my husband_ and I will make do with a queen bed - it's just for the one night. We're on an anniversary road-trip and there's so much to do - we're keen to keep moving."

 

It's true enough and it must be plausible to their host, who nods after a moment and reaches for the key. River deals with the paperwork and payment while the Doctor fidgets, stalking around the room and rearranging the pamphlets.

 

He feels edgy and he's not sure what it is - a prickle of unease sitting at the back of his neck. The Doctor decides that he must be overdue for a catnap - thankfully it's always been easier to succumb to sleep with River at his side.

 

Eventually the tedious details are sorted and the attendant leads them to the room at the end of the building, bidding them a polite good night, apparently too thrilled at the business to ask further questions.

 

The room is serviceable enough for the era: small, but tidy.

 

The Doctor drapes his coat over the back of the chair and flops down on the hideous floral bedspread, heedless of his boots. "Someone actually looked at this fabric and fancied it. Humans: pudding brains, the lot."

 

The bed doesn't have much bounce to it, which suits him fine. He's more interested in watching River dig through her bag, unearthing all manner of bottles and fabrics and a more than creative assortment of weaponry.

 

"I'm not about to entertain fabric critiques from you, Doctor. I've been in the wardrobe."

 

He huffs at the insult, grumbling under his breath that there's nothing wrong with his sense of décor or fashion, but River ignores him. She disappears into the washroom long enough for him to attempt the television and discover that the few channels available have all turned to static by this hour. He considers sonicing some proper telly, but that's not exactly laying low.

 

Thankfully, River returns before he can give into the overwhelming boredom, clad in silken pajamas that are period appropriate and yet somehow manage to cling decadently - and no-doubt purposefully - to her every curve, her hair damp and tamed into a loose braid.

 

She eyes his boots reproachfully as she slips under the covers. "Were you not planning on sleeping, Doctor?"

 

He'd not been planning to, but he'd be more of a fool than even he is to give up the chance to curl into his wife. "Would it matter what I said?"

 

"Not in the slightest." River gestures to a pair of pajama bottoms she'd apparently set out for him.

 

Grumbling half-heartedly as he hurries to shove off his shoes, trousers and jumper, the Doctor changes into tartan pajama bottoms and shifts under the covers, scooting closer to River until he can drape a tentative arm over her and bury his head in the crook of her neck. "The telly was rubbish anyway."

 

"I can't leave you alone for a moment, can I?" River murmurs, her voice already soft and sleepy.

 

The Doctor's hearts wrench at the easy teasing, the words prodding at the wound of missing her, still raw and unhealed after so many years. "Don't you dare," he growls, vehement.

 

River curls into him instinctively, though the set of her shoulders is stiff. Hiding the damage. The Doctor tightens his arms and tugs her closer still, fingers digging into silk for purchase. Her eyes search his, but he kisses her before she can call him out for needing her just a touch too desperately.

 

They've not touched like this since Lake Silencio, and the way River's mouth opens against his feels both familiar and longed for and achingly new all at once. His hands curl into River's hair and she hums appreciatively against his mouth, her body slotting perfectly against his, leg over his hip.

 

"And I'm the insatiable one?" River murmurs, once their lips finally part.

 

"I told you: you're a bad fucking influence, River Song." The Doctor chuckles against her clavicle, unbuttoning her blouse to cup his hands around her breasts unrepentantly. He lets River roll them until she's straddling him and, from the way she rucks up his shirt and rakes her nails over his belly before slipping her hand under the elastic of his pajama bottoms, he doubts she's complaining either.

 

River arches one eyebrow at him, a grin tugging at her lips. She likes that he's a bit harsher this go round, he's noticed, and that includes the cursing. "I'll take that as a compliment."

 

The Doctor strips River in turn, shoving at her pajamas until she rises up and slips out of them before settling more intimately over him. "Good. It is one."

 

His lips tease across her breasts, hands roaming toward her hips. Her skin is still soft and pliant from her bath, tasting faintly of hotel soap and more of her bath products: jasmine and citrus and spice. The Doctor is still sandy and grimy from the beach, but River merely draws up on her knees and takes him firmly in hand before guiding him inside her.

 

It's no less intense than the last time, and the Doctor feels his eyes roll back in his head as he grips River's hips to stop her from moving immediately.

 

River waits patiently, her hands tracing patterns on the pale skin of his chest, her nails just scratching in a way that used to tickle but now leaves him shivering.

 

With a growl, the Doctor urges River to move, gripping her roughly, one hand exploring her body and the other tugging at her hair.

 

"Impatient."

 

Grinning, River presses her palms over his hearts, her weight shifting as she moves over him. "Isn't that how you like me?"

 

She can't honestly expect conversation from him when his entire body is throbbing with pleasure and he's entranced by the vision of her rising over him. "I like you any way," the Doctor admits absently.

 

He can't bring himself to regret the admission either, when River's smile softens into something more genuine.

 

"Sap," she chides fondly, completely out of place with the breathless edge to the word and the rapid, rough roll of her hips over his.

 

The Doctor leans forward and buries his face in her bouncing, glorious breasts in lieu of a reply. He's still half convinced that he's dreaming her, though the smell of motel cleaners and the scratch of sand chafing at his skin dispel that notion quickly.

 

It doesn't matter how they're together - gentle or rough, fast or slow - the mere fact that River is once again in his arms, beautifully, viciously alive... the Doctor intends to savor every precious second of being with his wife.

 

Thankfully, River doesn't seem to mind his more tactile response, urging him on with her hands and hips and moans. The Doctor has a bit more of his wits about him now, and he sets about proving to River that he's still the man she married in every way, even if his hearts feel like they might burst every time he looks up at her.

 

When River shatters over him, the Doctor drags her close and lets her lips capture his in a kiss. He rolls them quickly, pressing her back into the sand-dusted sheets and greedily swallowing her high moans.

 

The Doctor hitches River's leg over his shoulder and presses deeper inside her, rediscovering the angle that makes her tear her mouth from his with a high moan.

 

" _Yes, sweetie - god_ ," she hisses like a curse, and the Doctor can't resist feeling a bit smug, particularly at the last.

 

Their bodies slip and come together faster still, sweat-soaked and aching with need. The Doctor loses himself in the lust-dazed green of River's eyes, the bitten red of her lips, the glowing sheen to her skin.

 

River's nails dig into the Doctor's scalp and back as she topples over the edge again, the Doctor following behind her with several choice curses.

 

For a moment, he is blissfully wrapped up in River - the scent and taste and feel of her skin against his. Her hair tickles his forehead - still an impossible nuisance - but he's not about to risk moving and leaving the cocoon of River.

 

River wiggles her toes pointedly, and the Doctor quickly helps her lower her leg back to the bed, though he doesn't leave the cradle of her body. "Quite a mouth you've developed, sweetie."

 

"You like it," the Doctor accuses, listening to the rapid double-patter of her hearts.

 

"Oh, most definitely." She nudges him again and the Doctor rolls to her side with a regretful huff. "You've gone and grown up on me, Doctor."

 

There's something wistful about her tone. At this point in her timeline, she's used to dealing with versions of him that are too young to realize what lucky sods they are to have her. "No. I've just gotten old."

 

"You've always been old," River teases, curling into him with a small, exhausted sort of yawn. "My old fella."

 

The Doctor shifts her closer, stifling the urge to argue with her. "Yes, well, you like old things. Bloody archaeologist."

 

"You like archaeologists."

 

"I like you," he corrects gently, feeling her sleepy smug smile against his chest. "Now shut up and go to sleep before I change my mind."

 

"Make me."

 

"Don't think I won't."

 

But she's already asleep.

 

...


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A single scream shocks the Doctor awake, his hearts hammering in his chest.

A single scream shocks the Doctor awake, his hearts hammering in his chest. _River..._

 

She's still next to him in the cheap motel bed, her body curled in on itself and away from him, which he doesn't approve of in the slightest. Her breathing is erratic and her body moving jerkily, small, miserable sounds spilling across her lips. She's dreaming.

  
Well, she's having a nightmare.

 

The Doctor sighs, shoving himself into a sitting position and scrubbing a hand through his hair as he watches her. It's been a long time since River's had a nightmare. For both of them, he thinks. But then running into her childhood keepers probably dredged up half-remembered demons.

 

Carefully, the Doctor reaches for her. Almost immediately River starts awake, reaching out blindly to disable or kill him, but the Doctor is quicker, pinning her body against his in an efficient parody of a hug. "Just me, dear."

 

It takes a moment before River stops struggling - his voice no longer the familiar comfort it used to be. She stills but remains tense, and the Doctor releases her warily. "Who else would it be?"

 

"You had a nightmare."

 

River shrugs but doesn't meet his eyes. "It was nothing. Go back to sleep, Doctor."

 

"You were screaming."

 

River winces but says nothing, curling back into the blankets as though her skin weren't clammy and her hearts racing.

 

He's a more patient man this go round. More blunt and more of temper, but he's less likely to trip all over himself trying to break River's silence. The Doctor settles back against the headboard and waits.

 

With a bitter exhale of breath, River finally admits, "The Silence. Come to drag me away. It's silly - I'll be fine."

 

For a moment, it's all the Doctor can do to grit his teeth and stare at the garish flower pattern of the bedspread. It may be a dream but he knows that's exactly what happened to River. They stole her away and he did nothing. _Not one line_ is a paltry excuse for the haunted look in her eye.

 

"How much do you remember?" He's never dared to ask before. Creatures that prey on memories and a little Time Lord lost among them for so long.

 

River glances up at that, recovered from her dream but not her waking nightmares. Not recovered enough to lie, at any rate. "Not much. Bits and pieces, mostly. Enough. You told me once that I probably didn't even remember killing you. I do. I remember our marriage as well - hard to forget that kiss." She's smiling now, trying to lure him away from the subject: hiding the damage behind effortless teasing.

 

The Doctor inhales a shaky breath and meets River's eyes. "Would you like to? Remember?"

 

"Yes."

 

There's no hesitation in her answer, and the Doctor wishes he'd been brave enough to ask long ago. He knows what it's like to be missing pieces of memories; how the empty spots ache and chafe, nagging.

 

The Doctor slides down the bed and motions River closer until they're facing one another on their sides and he can rest his fingertips at her temples. "It might hurt," he warns, not sure which of them he means.

 

River trails one hand over his cheek and nods, closing her eyes. Always so brave - so much braver than him.

 

Her mind is a familiar jumble of equations and doorways, of synapses and time, rumbling about together in a whirl of energy. There are darker areas, though, shrouded in clouds and shadows and just out of phase with everything else. The Doctor mentally nudges those memories, painstakingly detangling them from their webs until they shine clearly again, aligned and unburdened.

 

Perhaps unburdened is the wrong word.

 

The memories wash over him in a tidal wave, rising into vivid color the second they are freed.

 

_A babe in a cot, staring up at the monsters looming above her mobile._

_A girl with ginger hair, sat alone in a derelict building; well, alone except for the guards she knows keep watch, just where she can't see them._

 

Too many memories like that, River's childhood filled with long, lonely days interspersed with horrifying experiments and training. _A wee little girl, trapped in a spacesuit that she cannot escape, and they're watching her - watching, always watching - waiting to drag her away._

 

Her later memories are mostly intact, only a few Silent-infested nights; reminders of the vicious training she endured. His bespoke psychopath, built just for him. The Doctor shivers.

 

_River is in her graduation gown when they find her again, but she puts up a fight. It's not enough, not with how long they've had to plan her capture, and it doesn't seem to matter how many of them she puts down. They're dragging her away._

_Darkness and a terrible, still silence._

_The ticking of time is loud in River's ears, heavy and weighted, pressing down on her, swallowing her. She's all alone in the dark._

 

The Doctor withdraws from River's mind with a sick, shaky feeling, the memories rattling around behind his eyes. He'd always known River would not go into Lake Silencio willingly. He'd never wanted to know what they'd had to do to her to get her back into the spacesuit. _The spaceman is coming to eat me._

 

He flinches when River's hand reaches for his and then hates himself for it. These were River's memories. Her nightmares. And he's the one needing comfort.

 

No, not comfort.

 

He's furious.

  
Furious that Kovarian and these creatures could torture River - even now, her sleep is not safe because of _them_ \- and still be wandering the universe with impunity.

 

The Doctor squeezes his eyes shut against the blinding rage and tucks River against him. "All right?" He manages to choke the words out, relieved when they're not noticeably more gruff than this regeneration's normal pattern of speech.

 

River curls into him. "It's better to know. Thank you."

 

"Don't thank me. Not for that." Bile rises in the Doctor's throat but he swallows it back, the bitter taste lingering. He'll never forgive himself for what they've done to her _in fear of him_.

 

There's nothing else to say, River's memories twisting and settling between them, heavy as a leaden weight. They don't move, hands and bodies still entwined - points of contact in the dark.

 

They don't sleep, either.

 

...

 

The Silent is waiting in the long hallway in the pinkish dawn light. The lone guard at the forgotten outpost. River's blaster is in her hand almost before she spots it - a sort of extra sense she's developed after prolonged exposure.

 

The Doctor stills her with his hand gentle on her wrist. At River's questioning look, he holds out his sonic. "Trust me."

 

River's eyebrow arches but she lowers her gun, watching him. Trusting him just as she always has and he's never deserved.

 

With a grim smile, the Doctor flicks the sonic through to the recently added settings, waiting as the Silent draws the electrostatic charge from the air. When he turns it on, the sound the Silent makes would be haunting, if it wasn't so easy to forget once the Doctor looks away. He watches until the creature crumples and falls silent; then turns his sonic off, adding a single, stark tally mark to his wrist. The first of many.

 

River steps over the body, gun pointed steadily at its chest. Slowly, her stance relaxes, though she casts a worried glance toward the Doctor. "What did you do?"

 

"They conduct electricity as part of their telepathy, but their bodies are insulated - protected - from the current. I reversed the electrostatic charge and removed that protection."

 

"It electrocuted itself trying to make us forget it." River turns from the body to the Doctor, contemplative. Then she smiles, all teeth. "There's a poetic justice to that. I'm impressed."

 

Impressed at his creativity or impressed at the murder, it's hard to say. The Doctor wants to tell her that she shouldn't be. Instead, he takes her arm and turns away from the Silent, letting the scream fade from his mind. It's not the worst thing he has done or will do for her.

 

"We should keep moving," he says instead.

 

They don't turn back.

 

...


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> River sleeps soundly that night - the Doctor keeps guard to be certain, stroking his fingers across her arm and occupying himself with the mathematics of electrocution with no remorse at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for Beverly for encouragement and looking this over.

River sleeps soundly that night - the Doctor keeps guard to be certain, stroking his fingers across her arm and occupying himself with the mathematics of electrocution with no remorse at all.

 

When she wakes the next night screaming again, the Doctor finds himself in a less theoretical mood.

 

A less forgiving mood, when he finds himself staring down a nest of Silents, somewhere long forgotten in the middle of the country. He thumbs through his sonic settings, and this time it's not one Silent that falls but all of them, crumpling neatly to ash at his feet.

 

He adds the tally marks grimly but River dreams without nightmares, and he can't bring himself to regret turning his peaceful sonic into a weapon on her behalf. He'd do worse things, so long as it helped River sleep.

 

Not that River is content to let him exact her revenge. She is wickedly fast with her gun and knows exactly where to look for her former keepers. She's exterminating them one by one, with a ruthless efficiency that he shouldn't admire.

 

By the time they reach Florida, it's something of a competition. A macabre one, perhaps, but it's hard to see beyond the red that edges his vision when he thinks of how the Silence treated her. Red to match her heels and his coat. Red like her lips when they cling to each other in the night.

 

They turn north alongside I-95, following a twisty, confused path. The kind of path that a little girl might take, running away from her abductors.

 

They're clearing the route for little Melody, running all the way to New York City just in time to die from cold and hunger and illness. To fall right back into the hands of those she'd struggled so valiantly to escape. _Incredibly strong and running away._

  
The Doctor clenches his fists and grits his teeth against the swirling darkness clawing at his insides: the Oncoming Storm raging.

 

Perhaps River would normally notice - would normally stop him - but they're mired in her demons, and she might as well be made of stone for all the damage she lets show.

 

To distract her or make it up to her or pretend that this trip isn't a thinly veiled attempt to outrun their demons, and one with an expiration date at that, the Doctor goes out of his way to plan extravagant outings for them when they stop in anything approximating a town. They go to dinners in the middle of the country, proper balls in the South and he plans symphonies for the North.

 

When he proposes they go to a Southern ball, River neatly rescues his favorite of her dresses from her pack - the green-gold one he found for her on the Isle of Diamonds when they were first married - and scans him with one eyebrow raised. "And what are you going to wear?"

 

"I'm wearing a suit," he protests, fiddling with his coat.

 

River makes a derisive sound. "That is not a suit, sweetie."

 

He stalks off in a huff and finds himself at the nearest tailor. It takes some fancy talking - more-so than he's used to this go round, since he never carries currency. River's been managing their bills and he's been a bit afraid to ask, and he can't just sonic a pin machine. But it's worth it when he emerges in a bespoke red velvet blazer over a crisp, new dress shirt and dark trousers. Red in contrast to River's green. Red to match the venom in her lips.

 

River hums approvingly as she admires his new outfit, eyes lingering blatantly. He preens, pleased with himself. "I suppose you'll do."

 

He huffs, glaring a bit, but forgets all about his new kit when River strips off hers and steps into that green dress, hair swept up off her shoulders with one hand. "Do me up?"

 

He'd rather strip the dress right back off of her, but the Doctor dutifully steps forward and drags the zip up River's back, careful not to catch her skin even though his hands suddenly shake. He steps closer when he's finished, resting his chin on her shoulder and watching her in the small hotel mirror as she finishes pinning her hair. "You look stunning, dear."

 

She smiles through the mirror, tucking her sharpie necklace between her bosom to hide the unusual accessory.

 

The Doctor releases her at the reminder, turning away to shove his hands in his pockets.

 

...

 

They manage to sneak in without any fuss at all - Mr. and Mrs. Smith of the Smiths from somewhere that sounds properly posh. Yet more proof of what he's always secretly suspected: River's flirting might actually be better than the psychic paper for getting on guest lists. Not that he intends to tell her that - it will only encourage her.

 

Instead, the Doctor focuses on River's arm looped through his and tries not to glare at the ballroom full of people blatantly staring.

 

"Sweetie, stop glaring or we'll never make any friends," River whispers, one brow arched in amusement.

 

He fixes a particularly cross look at a spotted git in a suit who is all but drooling over River's cleavage. "That's the point."

 

River smirks, clearly enjoying the attention, or perhaps just enjoying torturing him. Or both. "You can't just keep me all to yourself. What kind of wife would I be if I didn't teach you how to share?"

 

He huffs and tucks her closer. "I've had quite enough of sharing my wife."

 

"You're not still cross about Cleo?"

 

As a matter of fact, he is, a bit. The Doctor leads them to the dance floor even though he's not sure how well this body dances, just for the excuse to pull River closer and make it painfully obvious to the rest of the room who she's there with. "Do I have to be cross if I want to keep the most beautiful woman in the room all to myself?"

 

"Flatterer," River accuses, but she leads his hand to her waist and settles against him, already swaying to the music.

 

He snorts. "I've been called worse - mostly by you."

 

"Don't tempt me."

 

"Wouldn't dream of it, dear."

 

To his relief, it turns out that he can still dance. He's even a sight more graceful than his last body, where it was always a concern that he might trod on River's toes if not for her quick reflexes. He finds that he even comes close to enjoying himself once he relaxes, spinning River out along with the music and grinning smugly when he dips her. It takes him far too long to realize that they're dancing alone in the middle of the ballroom, far too close compared to the other couples giving them a wide birth.

 

Not that he can bring himself to care one jot what the others might think. River's cheeks are flushed and eyes sparkling in a way that has very little to do with exertion, and he congratulates himself on finding just the sort of distraction they both so desperately need.

 

That is, until he spins her and there it is, standing stock still in the crowd like some overdone waiter; watching them.

 

When he looks down to catch River's eyes there are tallies on her arms and his hands. His grip on her tightens.

 

River follows his gaze and her breath catches, her hand inching down her thigh for her blaster. "Doctor."

 

"I know," there it is again, behind her. He can't tell if there's only one - if there is, it's awfully powerful. It's been feeding tonight. The Doctor sets his jaw. "It doesn't know we've seen it - keep dancing. I'll handle it."

 

For a moment River looks as though she wants to protest, but something in his eyes must stop her. She nods shortly, moving her hand stiffly back to his arm, clearly ready to reach for her blaster at any second. "Five."

 

Tally marks. They spin toward the crowd and he loses sight of the creature for just a moment.

 

"Six."

 

It's following them, in its cold, calculating way. It walks awkwardly, slowly with its long limbs and oversized head and hands. Its static charge makes people's hair frizz as it goes by, lights crackling overhead.

 

They're almost away from the innocent bystanders when the Silent cocks its head at them and lifts its arms, electricity sparking across its gargantuan fingertips.

 

River's gun is drawn before it even gets that far, and she's whirling to shoot it when the current in the air ignites like a match, magnetized to the metal of River's gun.

 

The Doctor's hearts skip two beats as he drags them both to the ground, her gun flying from her hand. The majority of the electricity dissipates back into the charged atmosphere of the ballroom, shattering champagne flutes and chandelier crystals, but relatively harmless, considering.

 

River takes the brunt of the impact with a grunt, her hair springing up into a glorious poof, while the Doctor nearly singes his new coat acting as her shield. He scrambles back to his feet before River can get out from under him, scanning the floor and diving across it while the Silent recharges.

 

The Silent ignores him, advancing on River. Apparently her weapon marked her as the biggest threat.

  
Which is a pity for it, really, because the Doctor is the one who rescues River's gun, the metal hot against his palm. All these innocent people it's been gorging itself on, and now it's after his wife. The very monster that haunts her dreams and stole her memories. Maybe it even recognizes her. His grip tightens.

 

The Silent crumples.

 

River is already on her feet, watching him warily from across the body.

 

The Doctor lowers his arm, moving quickly to return the blaster to its rightful owner. River's fingers brush his as she takes the weapon, her eyes scrutinizing him. Around them, the humans remain blissfully unaware of the monster in their midst, fussing over frizzy hair and spilt champagne.

 

The Doctor straightens his coat and offers River his arm. "Shall we?"

 

...


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They spend over a month in Washington, DC.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello sweeties. Far too long since I've updated this fic, I know. To make up for it, I come bearing smut! (Yes, this chapter will live up to its rating.)
> 
> Thank you to Beverly for looking this over, and whoever else I've sent it to and pathetically forgotten as I fiddled.
> 
> There should only be one chapter left after this, so we're coming down to the end. Thanks to anyone who is sticking it out - this little prompt fic evolved mightily.

They spend over a month in Washington, DC.

 

It's stupidly dangerous, of course - full of Silents and their younger selves besides. They studiously avoid the White House though his hearts ache to catch a glimpse of the Ponds.

 

Almost as soon as they arrive, River directs them toward the largest bank. "Time to make a withdrawal."

 

The Doctor frantically tries to recall news articles from this time and place. "Robbing a bank isn't exactly low profile."

 

River stops short, laughing at him as he frowns. "Don't be ridiculous. I'm not going to rob the bank."

 

Relieved, the Doctor can't resist muttering, "It wouldn't be the first time."

 

"I'll just pop back later and make a deposit."

 

He sputters. "That's not how it works!"

 

Rolling her eyes, River tugs him along the street. "Of course it is."

 

He's still sputtering when they walk in, arm in arm, and the bank manager immediately sweeps them up to a private room. The man is obsequious and he can't seem to tear his eyes away from River's chest. "Dr. and Mrs. Smith, how wonderful to see you again!"

 

While River bats her eyelashes, the Doctor glares, arms crossed, until the manager clears his throat and looks away. In the end, the manager lets them sign for a positively disgusting amount of dosh for the time period without requiring any ID beyond River's bosom.

 

River signs neatly under _Melody Smith_ without missing a beat. But seeing her use that name when little Melody is just south of them, running and scared - it stabs at his hears.

 

The Doctor's pen snaps.

 

River tenses, giving him a concerned look as she scans for exits and his hearts snap along with his pen. He scrawls _John Smith_ with its hastily provided replacement, squeezing River's hand. "Nothing, dear." He smirks; teases. "Just don't know my own strength."

 

River rolls her eyes and pats his arm condescendingly. "You don't know a lot of things."

 

Which is true. He doesn't know, for example, how she plans to get his signature in the future. Or in just how many time periods and cities River has scurried away bank accounts in their names - perhaps he should try simply walking in and asking more often, rather than fighting with the pin machines.

 

Sparing one last glower for the bank manager, he shoulders the bag of currency and tucks River's arm through his. If he tugs her just a bit closer than normal as they leave the bank, visions of her signature still stinging behind his eyes, River doesn't say a word.

 

...

 

They don't bother to hide, settling in at a posh hotel that pleases River and keeps the Doctor busy telling the rotating menagerie of staff to bugger off and leave them in peace. He puts his boots on the pristine white bedspread and stares out the overly large windows gloomily, thoughts on their younger selves - River's in particular - until she tugs him into the ornate bathtub with her and distracts him with warm water and her soft skin.

 

Having her in his arms appeases his guilt, albeit only for the moment. The Doctor wants to keep her there, safe in his arms, and soothe every harm that has ever come to her. Protect her from all the harm yet to come. But he's lost his poet's tongue with his previous body and River doesn't want his poetry anyway. No, her eyes are sharp and her nails bite into his skin, and if it's blood River demands, he'll give it to her willingly - his or the Silents, it no longer matters.

 

He curls one hand around the porcelain edge of the bath as River draws him between her legs. The Doctor bends his head to kiss a line down her neck, biting across her collarbones until River squirms and gasps, her legs and nails tightening. With his other hand, he palms her breasts in turn before dipping into the water and between their bodies to find the slickness between her thighs.

 

River makes an impatient sound when his thumb circles her clit, her nails raking down his back hard enough that he growls and bites down harder than he intended. When he glances up, River is smirking and the water gains a pinkish tinge.

 

"It's not going to work," he informs her, still circling his fingertips lazily over her clit.

 

"What isn't?" River's legs tighten around his waist, trying to draw him closer, but the water makes everything slippery and she can't get the grip she normally would. One of her hands tickles across his ribs in vengeance.

 

The Doctor suppresses a shiver, addressing his comment to a freckle on her right shoulder. "You're not going to rush me."

 

"And why not?" River's voice is already a bit breathless, though she rails at the challenge.

 

"Because I can hold my breath for a very long time."

 

The Doctor slips under the water before River can reply, slipping through her grip and stretching out in the bath until he can replace his fingers with his mouth.

 

Through the water, he can still hear River's muffled gasp of surprise, her hands quickly finding a new home in his hair as he slides her legs over his shoulders.

 

Despite the jasmine of her bath oils and the slightly bitter chemicals lingering from the sharpie, permeating the water, she still tastes like River. Soft and wet and slick as he presses his tongue inside her.

 

He holds his breath, lapping at her languidly, swirling his tongue and nudging her clit with his nose. In the water, she's soft and open for him, buoyant and effervescent.

 

It's a bit hard to avoid swallowing water, and the Doctor keeps a careful watch on his respiratory bypass, but he thinks he could happily drown with his face between River's legs.

 

When she starts to squirm impatiently, he licks his way up to her clit, sliding two fingers inside her to replace his tongue. He hums, water bubbles tickling her sex, and River's hands tighten in his slick hair, fingers digging into his scalp for purchase.

 

She hauls him up to the surface, where water drips from his eyebrows into his eyes and he can't resist grinning at her ridiculously even as he catches his breath in one great gulp.

 

"Idiot," River chastises, a bit breathless herself as she brushes his hair out of his face, her hand lingering over his jaw.

 

The Doctor turns his head to press a kiss to her palm, waggling his eyebrows at her, unrepentant. "You like it."

 

"I'd think that was obvious," River huffs, eyes dark and her legs sliding around his waist again.

 

This time, he lets her haul him closer, rising up on his knees and leaning in for a messy, wet kiss. River's hand slips between them to wrap around his cock with loose, teasing strokes aided by the bath water.

  
The Doctor groans and buries his face in River's neck, nosing her wet hair out of the way and licking the water off her skin. When he nips a bit, River leaves off teasing and guides him inside her with a needy whimper.

 

He takes his time sinking into the slick heat of her, ignoring the suddenly chill water in contrast, as one hand finds her arse to haul her right to the edge of the ledge she's sat on. He keeps a careful grip on the bath with his other hand as River slips one leg out of the water to rest over the edge of the tub, spreading herself wider and letting him press even closer, deeper on his next thrust.

 

The Doctor swears against her skin, setting a slow, hard pace and grinding his hips into hers until he's buried as deeply inside her as he manage and the sounds River makes are needy, caught in the back of her throat.

 

His back stings in the water and his knees ache from the hard porcelain. River's skin is covered with gooseflesh where it is exposed to the air, her breasts bobbing at the surface until he bends to cover one with his mouth. Her back arches, her head thrown over the lip of the bath. When the Doctor takes her hard nipple between his teeth, gently worrying the sensitive skin, River's moan is as rough as her nails across his back.

 

The sound makes the Doctor's hips snap faster, his toes curling and his body throbbing with her. They're both gripping the edge of the bath now for balance, bodies rocking urgently. River's moans echo on marble, drowning out the splashing water as waves crest and ebb.

 

Their skin is slippery in the water, damp and chilled in the air, feverish between them. The Doctor lifts his head to see the same fever reflected in River's eyes as they shift and slide and come together until they're both burning.

 

River hitches her leg higher around his hip, her heel digging into his arse and drawing him deeper still, and the Doctor circles his hips until the slow build finally snaps and he feels River shatter around him, her head thrown back and her mouth open on a scream.

 

His hips stutter as he follows helplessly after her, caught in her grip. His knees buckle and he folds into River, pressing her back into the porcelain with his weight.

 

Easing her leg down, River holds him close with her lips at his temple as waves gently lap across their skin. Together, they slip further into the cooling water, collapsed in a spent heap.

 

...

 

Afterwards, they lay naked and tangled among the sheets, River's hair damp and chaotic, dripping across his chest. The Doctor separates out the tangled curls absently, his eyes lingering over River's pristine skin, scrubbed free of the sharpie tattoos that gather there daily.

 

"Stop it," she mumbles, eyes still closed.

 

He frowns, glancing between her face and hair. "Sorry, dear, didn't mean to pull."

 

"You're staring."

 

The Doctor tugs one of her curls deliberately for the comment, her eyes snapping open to glare at him. "I was not staring. Maybe you were dreaming."

 

"I wasn't dreaming."

 

"Your eyes were closed."

 

River huffs. "I could feel you staring. You're not subtle, darling." She glances down at their naked bodies with a smirk. "You didn't see enough already tonight?"

 

"I'll never get enough of you," the Doctor admits gruffly, looking deliberately at her hair rather than her face.

 

Out of the corner of his eye, he watches River's eyes flutter closed again on a sigh. "That's what you always say."

 

Her hand is splayed possessively over his left heart, her breathing already low and even. The Doctor rests his head back against his pillow, drawing her gently closer.

 

"And I always mean it."

 

...

 

The city is positively infested with Silents. To the point where even his memory starts to skitter around dark, blurry spots that leave him covered in sharpie, his hearts racing and his hand clutching River's so tightly his knuckles are white.

 

In those moments, River's eyes are unfocused and wild as she glances up at him, her blaster still smoking and her hair standing on end from the electricity in the air. He counts quickly and carefully, eyes darting around whatever room or corner or alley they find themselves in, making sure they're alone again while his mind struggles to sift through the Silent-induced fog.

 

"Clear." He stows his sonic back in his pocket and doesn't let go of River's hand.

 

Her body is stiff and tense against him as she nods, but she looks a bit like a cornered animal the way her eyes flit between her arms and her gun. As though she's caught in one of her nightmares.

 

As though she can't remember.

 

Oh.

 

_As though she can't remember._

 

It makes his hearts ache and crack.

 

The Doctor relaxes his grip, squeezing her hand gently in reassurance, trying to draw her back to him.

 

He'll be lucky if his Time Lord memory eventually fills in the darker gaps, what with the unremitting exposure to the Silents. Or perhaps he'd rather not know what he'll do for her; with her.

 

River's tolerance is higher than his from sheer lifetime exposure - a point that still haunts both of their dreams - but she's still more human than she'll ever admit. If she remembers this at all by the time she gets back to Utah, it will be as little more than a faded dream - or a nightmare.

 

It makes him all the more determined to make the most of these stolen moments with her. To etch their time together in his mind and her hearts. She may not remember this time, this _him_ , but he's determined that she'll remember how desperately he loves her.

 

His love is a dangerous thing, too dangerous even to voice, but it's far too late to turn back now.

 

It's in one of those forgotten back alleys in DC when the idea first occurs to him. He doesn't even fight it, thumbing through his sonic settings without remorse and keeping the nest of Silents in his sight.

 

River's fingers dig into the fabric of his coat, crushing the velvet as he stoops to lay his sonic on the ground. "Doctor..." she warns without looking at him, her other hand perfectly still around her blaster.

 

He closes his hand over hers, lowering her weapon and shaking his head as he tries to tug her back. "Come on. There's too many for that."

 

"I can take them," she insists, teeth bared and eyes flashing as she counts Silents.

 

"I believe you," he soothes, thinking back to a cavern full of Silents and River lingering outside the TARDIS until she was the only life sign detected, as though she thought he wouldn't know. He nudges his sonic with his foot and it rolls toward the nest of Silents. "Watch."

 

The Silents do, heads cocked as they swoop down over the little device. River does, wary, her grip on him and her blaster never wavering even as she lets him maneuver them a few steps back.

 

The pulse detonates just as the first Silent reaches for his sonic, half the nest crowding it and the other half focused on River and the Doctor. There's whirl as the timer reaches zero, a sharp wind whipping through the alley as the Silents hit the ground.

 

River holds her breath for a beat and, when she's certain they're dead, blinks up at him, brow furrowed but her eyes wide and clear in a way they haven't been in days. "Doctor, what have you -" she stops herself because they're past that now, and asks instead, "new setting?"

 

"It seemed more efficient."

 

They make their way neatly out of the alley, stopping only for the Doctor to pocket his sonic from between the bodies at their feet.

 

...


End file.
